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this is the place for the lavas that have no outpouring
my office is a single pillow stained by nosebleeds
and talk to me of everything
and talk to me of everything
this is the place where her shirt was opened
and breadcrumbs already sucked through mouse guts
tumbled out between the mirror buttons
you can sit here too
despite the imprint of her sad ass on my couch
with blood and puss like a toxic moth fading between the departed halves
this is the place for the beauty left on the newscaster's shelf
obscured by unearned trophies
the place for what's left out of all the billboards
crossed by the same streetlights
this is the place where you were raped
with it's landscape made irrelevant and new
now it is a love that breaks the bags under your eyes
that have become like beetles in their armor
but not as lovely as beetles
tears that have become like engine oil with restraint
for a while i wanted the image back
of your face before it revealed itself as human
now i want the terror and the bravery 
to make themselves obvious allies
in a velvet mask that dribbles down lengthening doorsteps 
in a latex tide of abstracted discovery
the removed disguise that discovers loveliness
is sleeping next to me 
in pairs of everything

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